Pirates of the Caribbean: Secret of Bootstrap Bill
by Joyful Pirate
Summary: No good story stops at happily ever after. Will finds out his storybook ending isn't all he thought it would be. *SLASH* J/W
1. Happily Ever After

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no permission to be writing this story. See if that stops me. Copyrights belong to a bunch of people, probably Disney's on the list somewhere.  
  
  
  
Summary: Will and Elizabeth get married and live happily ever after. Yeah,right.  
  
Notes: Allo, allo. Round of applause for Johnny and Orlando who did the impossible - turned me into a slash writer. After all these years. Who knew? In any case, this story will definitely be of the Jack/Will persuasion, never fear.  
  
  
  
I'm not sure quite how things will turn out rating-wise. My guess is somewhere between hard PG-13 and medium R, knowing my foul mouth. Sorry, I tend more towards the plot than the porn.  
  
  
  
As for distribution, I can hardly condemn anyone for yoinking my story, as   
  
we're all pirating the creative property of someone else. But I would greatly appreciate it if you inform me as to where it?s going. I'm asking. You do it too, okay?  
  
  
  
The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Secret of Bootstrap Bill  
  
  
  
"... I now pronounce you man and wife," the preacher finished. Will Turner pulled back from his kiss - or tried to. There was a wave of shocked whispers among the large crowd that was crammed into the three sections of ribbon-festooned pews as the former Miss Elizabeth Swann threw her arms around her husband's neck and bent his head back towards hers.  
  
"Er, Dearest," Will began, his cheeks flushing. He raised his hands and tried to gently pry hers off of him.  
  
  
  
She murmured incoherently, stepping closer to him.  
  
"T  
  
"Treasure," he continued, a little less patiently as he somehow caught sight of Commadore Norrington of all people. Elizabeth's ex-fiance was politely attempting to hide his glare.  
  
  
  
Even the priest looked at them as he closed his red leather Bible with a   
  
frown of disapproval.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth!" Will hissed finally, taking a step back and breaking her hold.  
  
  
  
The glazed look snapped out of Elizabeth's eyes and she seemed suddenly   
  
aware that they were in front of a crowd of two hundred people - including her father, the governor of the settlement, and in a church no less. She shot a mortified look to her groom.   
  
  
  
Will smiled reassuringly, amused now that her breach was over. He took her hand left hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the shining gold band she now wore before he led her back down the aisle. More whispers than cheers came from the guests as they passed.  
  
  
  
"Told 'im 'e shouldn't a waited till the weddin night," he clearly heard his former master, Jonathan Brown, say knowingly to the well-dressed lady who stood next to him as they went by.   
  
  
  
The lady, Miss Margaret West, tossed her well-coiffed head and turned her eyes to the backs of the retreating couple. More specifically, the back of the retreating groom. Not that she would admit to it, naturally. Though she did give a sigh as her friend stepped into the sunshine with her attractive new husband. 'He's only a blacksmith,' she consoled herself. 'Horrid match indeed. Elizabeth will be quite miserable, I expect. Poor thing.' Cheered, she stood and gave her arm to her father, an admiral in the king's army.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth did not feel miserable. In fact, she rather felt like all of her dreams were coming true at once. Finally, she was able to have it all. The stability and the excitement both at once. The adventure she and Will had   
  
shared would forever color him as a pirate in her memory. He had been daring and reckless and brave and outrageous, but he was still her Will, the sweet boy she'd grown up with. The perfect mixture of two worlds, wrapped up behind a beautiful face. 'And body,' she thought suddenly, and the blush that had just begun to recede returned with interest as they stepped together into the four-horsed carriage that would take them back to her father's mansion.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
It was funny. Will had pictured his wedding night in a lot of different ways over the years.  
  
Sometimes he'd seen himself as suave and debonaire, sweeping Elizabeth (always it had been Elizabeth) into his arms without a word and laying her gently onto a large, silk-draped bed, undressing her slowly and tortously before he descended upon her with kisses and brought them both to heights of pleasure neither had ever dreamt of.  
  
Other times he'd have nightmarish visions of himself sweeping his bride off of her feet - and losing all sense of balance of his own, tripping over a corner of the carpet, or stumbling over his dropped hat. Elizabeth would go legs-before-head on a one-way trip to the floor with petticoats flying in all directions.  
  
He'd imagined nights of passion and nights of adventure and nights of   
  
humiliation and fear and overwhelming love. The only thing that remained constant in all of his conjectures was the certainty that he would feel   
  
something more intensely than he had ever felt it in his life.  
  
  
  
That's why he lay awake while Elizabeth slept so peacefully on his bare chest. She looked lovely, as always. Even with her hair loose and unruly from lovemaking, she still had the angelic aura she'd possessed since the first time he saw her, when she stood over him, a child, glowing in the sunlight and promising to watch over him.  
  
  
  
He closed his eyes and conjured that image - the one that he had always used as a symbol for all the reasons he loved her. There it was, same as ever. A moment of connection forever captured in his memory. She was his love, his savior, the first face he saw when he awakened from the brink of death. He was forever indebted to her.  
  
So it was impossible that he could be disappointed on the most important night of their life together.  
  
Maybe he had just been expecting too much. It hadn't been unpleasant. There were the same physical pleaure and sense of release as he felt when he took himself in hand. But the way Elizabeth reacted, the enthusiasm he had felt in every inch of her... it made him feel inadequate. Why wasn't he as frantically eager as she was? Wasn't it supposed to be the man who couldn't control the depths of his passion? Wasn't there supposed to be a moment of connection, of togetherness where you bonded not just with your bodies, but with your entire being? He didn't feel any closer to his friend - wife - than he had before they stepped into the church that morning.  
  
  
  
Was something wrong with him?  
  
  
  
He shook himself impatiently, causing Elizabeth to stir, then snuggle closer to him with a sigh. A soft grin touched her lips when she looked up at him. Something in his expression made the sleepy smile fade.  
  
  
  
"Will...?" She asked, her voice tight with concern.   
  
  
  
He looked into her questioning eyes. His protector.  
  
  
  
"I believe my arm has fallen asleep before the rest of me," he explained soothingly. "Could you let me shift my weight a bit?"  
  
  
  
It was the first time he had ever lied to her.  
  
  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry, darling." She sat up and watched him flex his arm for a moment. "I guess we're a bit new at it, aren't we?"  
  
  
  
He stared at her. "Yes. That's it." His face lit up. "It's because it's new. We'll get better and better with time." He grabbed her suddenly and kissed her, stopping a question on her lips.   
  
  
  
"That's all it is," he affirmed with relief when again Elizabeth was sleeping in his arms. He had been ridiculous, expecting so much so soon.   
  
  
  
He hadn't forged a sword his first time stepping up to the fire, had he? 


	2. Once Upon a Time

The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Secret of Bootstrap Bill  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Will was awakened by a soft knock on the bedroom door.  
  
It was a maid with breakfast. The housekeeper had discreetly sent it up to them so they needn't rise too hastily on their first morning as man and wife.  
  
"Thank you," Will said politely, reflexively rising to help the girl with the large silver tray. As the sheet fell away from him, the maid's hands slipped and the tray went crashing to the ground, landing with a resounding crash that had Elizabeth bolt upright in an instant.  
  
"Are you alright?" asked the blacksmith, bending down to pick up some of the fruit and biscuits that had rolled onto the carpet. The maid blushed and wouldn't meet his eyes, dropping items as often as she picked them up.  
  
"Will!" exclaimed Elizabeth, gaining her bearings. "Your dressing gown!"  
  
"My.?" Will looked at her in confusion for a moment before realization dawned. That was right. It was improper to be seen without a shirt in the governor's mansion. "Oh! Indeed. My apologies." He bowed to the maid and fetched his robe from atop a chest at the foot of the bed and pulled it on quickly. The servant watched, entranced.  
  
"Just leave it," Elizabeth ordered the maid, who jumped up in an instant and backed out of the room, apologizing all the way, her eyes fixed on the floor. The girl stopped for a fraction of a second to boldly cast one final glance at Will, who was picking up the remainder of the scattered breakfast foods. "Good day," Elizabeth said, piqued, and the servant disappeared behind the closing door.  
  
Will gave his wife a chiding look. "No need to scold the girl, treasure. She was just being clumsy. It's not like she meant to wake you up."  
  
"No, I'll bet she didn't," Elizabeth replied caustically.  
  
"And here I had always pictured you as a morning person." Will grinned.  
  
A blush crept into Elizabeth's cheeks. Her voice was softer as she asked, "You thought about what I was like in the morning?"  
  
"Well, it just seemed part and parcel with the whole storybook heroine role you had going," Will continued glibly, completely missing his wife's tender look. "Getting kidnapped, fighting pirates, saving friends from certain death and breaking an engagement in the name of true love. Sounds like a novel to me. And when have you ever opened a novel where the female lead wasn't ravishingly beautiful, brave, a fabulous singer, dancer and poet, the cleverest conversationalist, a top-drawer kisser even on the first shot and up every morning before the sun so she could sit picturesquely in the garden and talk to the birds about how much she longs for adventure?"  
  
Elizabeth looked at him strangely. "Been reading a lot of romances, have we?"  
  
"Well, I." Will stammered. "Everyone knows what they're about."  
  
"In such detail." She arched an eyebrow.  
  
"I.. Well.. Oh, for Heaven's sake have some fruit!" He tossed her the piece he'd been picking up.  
  
She caught it and brought it to her smirking mouth. All of a sudden she looked down and scowled.  
  
"Not funny!" she exclaimed, chucking the apple back at him.  
  
* *  
*  
  
"Ah, there you are!"  
  
Elizabeth stopped on her way down the stairs at the sound of her father's voice below her.  
  
"Good morning, Father," she said brightly, stepping down to embrace him.  
  
He held her tight then moved back, examining her closely. Her dark eyes sparkled and her entire face seemed to glow with energy.  
  
"You look lovely," he said, a note of relief in his voice.  
  
She laughed. "People often do, when they're in love."  
  
"Yes, yes, quite right," he agreed, giving her his arm.  
  
She covered his hand in hers. "Thank you," she said quietly.  
  
He led her into the morning room.  
  
"Good morning, Miss- Mrs. Turner," a cultured voice greeted, stumbling over her new name. "Let me offer my congratulations again."  
  
"Commodore," she said, kindly, extending her hand. He took it as briefly as possible, avoiding her eyes, and returned to the chair he'd just vacated. Elizabeth sat on the brocade settee and they fell into an uncomfortable silence.  
  
"Well," began the Governor eventually. "And where is your husband, my dear?"  
  
"He had a few errands to attend to. He should return before any other callers arrive," she replied.  
  
"Errands?" Norrington enquired.  
  
"Mr. Brown sent a message this morning, asking him to stop by his old workshop," she said casually, raising her chin a bit.  
  
There was another silence as the men digested this reminder of Will's station.  
  
"Very good, then. As long as he's back in time," commented Swann, again breaking through the intense awkwardness that pervaded the room.  
  
Suddenly Commodore Norrington stood up. "That reminds me," he announced, grabbing his hat from a side table. "I have a few tasks that need attending myself. I'll see to what we discussed," he said to the Governor. "Pray excuse me, Mrs. Turner." With a bow to Elizabeth he was gone.  
  
Elizabeth let out a breath. She truly did pity the Commodore, but nothing could ever make her regret choosing to marry the man she loved.  
  
"I should have a word with the housekeeper to be sure everything's ready," she remarked, rising. She knew that today would be crucial in determining her future social status. The wedding itself was no indicator, as no one would think of missing such a talked about event. An unusual match became a mésalliance only when the couple was dropped by all of their friends. Whoever came to see them today would be giving their tacit approval to the marriage and indicating their intention of continuing the acquaintance. It was crucial that she and Will gave off a good impression. Serving their best sweets to the callers could do no harm to that end.  
  
If there are any callers to serve, Elizabeth thought, not without a touch of apprehension.  
  
* * *  
  
The shop smelled just the same, Will noticed. Like steel and sweat and the endless jug of ale that Brown didn't seem to ever stop up. It wasn't really surprising; he had only left the day before. But it seemed disappointing that nothing had changed, that his absence, and therefore his presence, made no difference to the place that had been his home for so many years.  
  
"Mr. Brown?" he called, sweeping his feathered hat off and looking around.  
  
There was no answer.  
  
Must be out getting some more ale, Will surmised, looking around the empty shop. He took a moment to pat the neck of the donkey that was harnessed to a wheel in the center of the room before he noticed a pair of tongs smoldering in the fire. He was across the room in an instant, grabbing a second pair and using them to pluck the glowing tool from the flames. A moment later they were hissing in the quench tank.  
  
A scowl settled on his face at the negligence of the blacksmith. An expert at his trade, Will couldn't help but feel offended at such incompetence. Even Brown should know better than that, he huffed. The thought gave him pause. Brown did know better than that. The man was a drunkard to be sure, and more than willing to let his young apprentice do his job for him, but he was experienced at his trade and had taught Will everything he knew. It wasn't like him to be that careless with valuable equipment.  
  
Suddenly worried, Will looked around more carefully. Several swords were lying on a workbench, pieces he'd finished weeks ago. They had been hung neatly on display pegs the previous morning. He grabbed the hilt of one and held it up in front of him as he walked further into the darkened recesses of the shop, listening hard. There was silence except for the breathing of the donkey behind him. It made him even more cautious as he made his way to the door of his former bedroom.  
  
The door was ajar.  
  
He tightened his grip on the weapon and braced himself before kicking the door open. It wouldn't open all the way, stopping after about three quarters with a thick thud. The tiny room was decently lit from the window high on the wall opposite him and a quick glance around showed him that no one was poised to ambush him. He looked down to see what was blocking the door and dropped his sword with a clash.  
  
Jonathon Brown was sprawled out on the floor, unconscious, a red mark forming on his arm from where the door had hit him.  
  
Will was on his knees in an instant, pressing his fingers against the older man's neck, feeling for a pulse. He found one, a faint one, but proof of life nonetheless. With a bit of effort he managed to get his hands under the blacksmith's arms and haul the man up and over to the cot.  
  
"You'll be all right," Will promised, unbuttoning his master's shirt before he rose to fetch the apothecary.  
  
* * *  
  
Elizabeth needn't have worried that they would lack callers. It was barely visiting hours before the doorbell was ringing and the new butler hadn't left off from answering it since.  
  
It seemed curiosity at such an unusual match had overpowered even elitism, because she had been forced to move her company from the morning room to the first drawing room, and then open the doors between that and the second to make room for all of her guests. Everyone who was anyone in Port Royal had descended upon the Governor's mansion.  
  
Almost everyone.  
  
Will Turner, you are a dead man, she vowed, smiling enchantingly as she poured another cup of tea for the Count de Monet.  
  
* * *  
  
"E'll be fine," pronounced the apothecary, closing the small cloth bag where he kept his tools. "It was a little case of alcohol poisoning," he diagnosed.  
  
Will frowned. "Alcohol poisoning?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Everyone knows how much 'e drinks."  
  
Will was silent.  
  
"What?" the man asked, testily.  
  
"It's just, I've seen the effects drink has on him. He's a souse, no question, but he's rather lethargic in his cups. He always passes out in a chair. Are you sure it can't be something else?"  
  
"Like what?" Will was at a loss. "Thought not. It'll be ten farvings."  
  
Will handed the coins over with a scowl and the man left. Brown still hadn't woken up, so Will sat on the reed-bottomed chair next to the bed and thought. Something was definitely not right with his master, and the apothecary had been worse than useless: he'd been useless and overpriced. He supposed he'd have to have a doctor in to -  
  
Brown's eyes popped open. He looked around blearily for a moment or two before settling his eyes on his former apprentice.  
  
"Ah, bout time," he muttered, slowly pushing himself up to sitting position. He sat still for a moment, pressing a fist to his chest, then continued. "Wasn't sure ye'd be by, now that yer all in with the hoi polloi."  
  
Will bridled. "Of course I came," he defended, relieved to hear the little man back to his sarcastic self. "How are you feeling?" he asked concernedly.  
  
"Fine, fine," the blacksmith slurred, getting to his feet and making his way unsteadily to the workroom.  
  
Will followed him. "So why did you send for me?"  
  
Brown took his time answering, walking over to the table of swords and frowning. "Where's the other'n?"  
  
"Oh, I brought in the other room," Will explained, disappearing into the back for a second and returning with the weapon in hand.  
  
"You can 'ave that one, then," the blacksmith said decisively.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"That's what I wanted, to give ye yer weddin present. I figgered on giving ye a choice of any sword ye wanted, but that's the best one anyway."  
  
Will stared at him. "You sent for me first thing in the morning, the day after my wedding, to gift me with a sword I forged myself?"  
  
"Yer welcome."  
  
*  
* *  
  
"And where is this mysterious bridegroom?" asked Mrs. Turpin. She was the fifth person in half an hour to do so.  
  
Elizabeth clenched her jaw into a smile.  
  
"He'll be in at any instant," she gaily replied.  
  
"I can't wait!" the elderly matron announced.  
  
"Oh, neither can I," Elizabeth agreed dangerously, tightening her grip on her teacup.  
  
"Is he that good-looking, Elizabeth, that you feel the need to keep him all for yourself?" teased Rupert, Count de Monet, a rich French nobleman who had come to Jamaica to oversee some of his family's trade concerns.  
  
"Of course he is," continued the count, before she could reply. "We don't risk our lives for lads with nice personalities, after all."  
  
"Technically, I was risking it for a pirate," Elizabeth corrected, knowing he referred to her siding with Will in defense of Jack Sparrow at the gallows several months ago.  
  
"Ah, yes. The infamous Captain Sparrow. Now there's a fellow with a spectacular. personality, I hear." The Frenchman looked off dreamily for an instant before returning to his usual cynical half-smile.  
  
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows but was stopped from responding by a buzz that spread through the crowd. She turned to see her husband walking through the door at the far end of the room, a cloak thrown dashingly over his shoulders, one rogue strand of hair falling across his forehead under a wide-brimmed hat. All thoughts of murdering him disappeared, overshadowed by the aching in the bottom of her chest that she felt every time she saw him.  
  
"Will!" she greeted, adoringly. She had put down her teacup and crossed the room before she realized she had moved, reaching up a hand to brush the lock of hair out of his face.  
  
"Hello, treasure. I'm sorry to be so late, but there was an emergency. A friend was ill," he explained, taking her in his arms.  
  
There was a snort nearby and the couple turned to look at de Monet, who had followed Elizabeth across the room.  
  
"'A friend was ill?'" he asked, wryly, clucking his tongue. "Such scandalous friends, falling ill so soon after the wedding."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Will asked politely.  
  
"Not at all," Rupert grinned. "You have my sincere wishes for the lady's speedy convalescence."  
  
Will turned pink and Elizabeth's mouth dropped open.  
  
"I'll have you know, sir, that I was with a man," Will defended.  
  
"Is that a fact?" purred the count, looking very interested.  
  
Will sputtered angrily before Elizabeth recovered herself.  
  
"Darling, I'd like to introduce you to the Count de Monet. He's quite a card," she broke in, indicating Rupert. "Count, this is my husband, Mr. Turner."  
  
"A pleasure, I'm sure," the count grinned, looking Will over closely.  
  
"Quite," Will gritted out.  
  
"Now I really must introduce you to Mrs. Turpin, she was just asking after you," Elizabeth rushed on, linking her arm in the crook of her husband's elbow and carting him off.  
  
"The nerve!" Will hissed, under his breath.  
  
Elizabeth patted his arm with her free hand as they approached a group of ladies that had been eying him with great interest since he entered the room.  
  
"Ladies, I'd like you to make the acquaintance of my husband, Mr. Turner. Will, this is Mrs. Turpin, Miss West, Mrs. Bleaker, Miss Potter, and the misses Knight, Miss Susan and Miss Louise."  
  
Will smiled charmingly at all of them; positive he'd be calling Miss West Miss Potter in no time. Miss Potter and Susan, the youngest Miss Knight, both blushed furiously and stammered out responses. Mrs. Turpin and Mrs. Bleaker made him cordial greetings, and Miss Louise gave a vague hello. Miss West, however, was silent. She stared at Will with uncomfortable steadiness.  
  
Elizabeth noticed and her hand rose up of its own volition to rest possessively on her husband's chest. Will smiled down at her and took the hand, kissing it, mistaking her gesture for a show of affection.  
  
"So, Margaret, how have you been?" Elizabeth asked triumphantly, smiling at the tightening of the other woman's lips.  
  
* * *  
  
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